


Late Night, Long Night

by untrustworthyglitch



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, but like only briefly, i hate the way ao3 does tags for youtube stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 01:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14226036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untrustworthyglitch/pseuds/untrustworthyglitch
Summary: Virgil slips out of bed late one night after a nightmare, not bothering to put on his hoodie because it's far, far too late for any of the others to be awake, and even if they are, he'll just sink back into his room before they notice his black tank top and purple plaid boxers. He'll be fine. It's just a quick trip to the kitchen and maybe an hour on the couch, and no one else will ever even know.Except, of course, that's not how it works, and Roman definitely, definitely lives up to his reputation as the romantic one.((Written for tumblr dialogue prompt: "What? Oh, I'm sorry--does this outfitbotheryou?"))





	Late Night, Long Night

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the thing i meant to be very short and which quickly grew into something that i actually really like, so i'm cross-posting it here! come on down to untrustworthyglitch.tumblr.com to say hey!!

Virgil wakes up gasping, heart pounding, hands shaking. He sits bolt upright and chokes on his breaths for a moment until he calms down enough to realize that the nightmare is over before flopping back onto the bed and tugging a pillow over his head, pressing it into his face hard enough to be uncomfortable. He sighs.

There’s no way he’s getting back to sleep tonight, so he waits until his heart isn’t pounding so loudly and sits back up. He swings his feet over the side of the bed and glances at the clock. It’s well past when the others usually go to bed, so he should be safe to prowl around the mindscape without running into anyone. 

He leaves his hoodie on the chair where he’d flung it before climbing into bed and walks down the hall on silent feet, clad only in a black tank top and purple plaid boxers. No one else will see him, he figures, so he might as well not bother putting more on. Besides, if anyone does happen to be awake at this hour, he’ll just sink down and back into his room before he’s noticed, and no harm will have been done.

Virgil avoids the squeaky steps on the stairs and holds his breath, listening for any sound or sign of anyone else awake, only heading for the kitchen when he’s completely sure he’s alone. He heads for the sink first, filling a glass with water, and is about to take advantage of the alone time and sit on the couch and scroll through his phone in peace for a while when he’s rudely interrupted.

“Virgil?” Roman half-shouts, voice loud in the nighttime stillness, and Virgil startles so badly that he drops the glass of water. It thuds dully to the carpet, thankfully not broken, and Virgil leans heavily on the wall and presses a hand to his chest.

“Listen, Princey, you need to learn to warn a guy,” he says, eyes on the ceiling, heart pounding.

Roman is on the couch, somehow having managed to appear in between when Virgil came down the stairs and now. There’s a red blanket on his lap and a book in his hands and he’s staring blankly at Virgil with wide eyes.

Virgil picks at a fingernail and squirms under his gaze, wishing he’d tugged on his hoodie after all. He’s painfully aware of his bare arms, his legs. The silence stretches and Roman seems content to let it, so Virgil eventually says, “Roman?”

“Virgil!” Roman says, seemingly startled out of whatever daze he was in. He stands, blanket falling to the floor, and hurries across the room. He bends to pick up the glass and sets it on the counter, frowning at the wet carpet. “I apologize for startling you.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m easy to startle. Besides, it was just water,” Virgil says. Roman is very close to him, and that fact sends tiny thrills down Virgil’s spine. He can’t decide whether he’d rather be much, much further away or much, much closer. Both are equally terrifying. 

Virgil rubs at the back of his neck and stops himself, frowning. God, he wants his hoodie. 

“I still should have been more careful,” Roman replies. He takes a step back and opens his mouth to say something else, but his eyes stray to Virgil’s chest and he shuts it with an audible  _click_. Virgil crosses his arms and looks down.

“Uh, I’m gonna go back to bed,” he says. He turns toward the stairs and nearly jumps out of his own skin when Roman grabs him by the elbow.

“No! No, Virgil, why don’t you stay awhile?” Roman says. He lets go of Virgil’s elbow and points back toward the couch, where the red blanket and book had been abandoned. “We could watch a movie. Perhaps with subtitles, so we don’t wake the others.”

And, honestly? Virgil doesn’t really want to go back to the shifting shadows and post-nightmare fog that he knows his room will encompass. He really wants to spend some time with Roman, even if it is just watching a movie in complete silence, because he is maybe a little bit head over heels for the guy and soaks every scrap of attention like a particularly greedy sponge. He swallows down his token protest and says, “Yeah, sure.”

Roman blinks as though surprised and a tiny spark of regret ignites in Virgil’s chest. Maybe Roman only offered to be nice. Maybe Virgil should just go back to his room and let Roman go back to reading. Maybe Virgil should have put on his hoodie before he left, because he’s cold and Roman won’t stop looking at him and yeah, that can’t be good.

The fear wears off the moment Roman grins at him. Virgil manages a smile in return and finds himself being tugged toward the couch, where Roman tosses the blanket at him and turns to busy himself with the DVD player. It doesn’t take him more than a handful of minutes to get the movie playing and get himself situated on the couch, sharing the blanket. 

Virgil tries to relax and do his best not to think about his bare arms, but it’s a losing battle. Every now and again he notices Roman staring at him out of the corner of his eye. It’s never for long, but it’s happening, and he doesn’t even make it halfway through the movie before he’s had enough.

“Okay, Princey, I’m over it,” he says, annoyed, rubbing at the cold skin of his left elbow. “Either stop staring at me, or I’m leaving.”

It’s a brave statement for someone who suddenly can’t quite catch his breath.

Roman’s eyes go wide and he waves his hands through the air, little useless motions that are probably supposed to somehow convey urgency. They only serve to make Virgil that little bit more on edge.

“No, no! I’m not staring at you!” Roman insists.

“Lie,” Virgil says, with heat in the words. “I’m pretty good at recognizing lies, Roman.”

“Okay, fine! But I’m only staring at you because I don’t think I’ve ever seen your arms before!”

Virgil’s thought processes stutter to a halt and all he can do is gape. Roman matches his wide eyes and slack jaw, as though he can’t entirely believe the words, either.

Finally, Virgil manages to get enough of his brain cells to work together long enough to say, angry, “What? Oh, I’m sorry--does this outfit  _bother_  you?”

 _It bothers_ me, he doesn’t say.  _I don’t feel safe because the hoodie is a comfort item and I thought I was safe here under the cover of darkness but apparently not, apparently I’m still only good for staring at and mocking and I can’t believe how stupid I was to think you’d actually somehow learned to accept me, to care about me, to want me around--_

 _“Bother_  me? Heavens, no, Virgil! Quite the opposite! You look--well, I rather like it,” Roman says, finishing with much less enthusiasm than he began, the words trailing into a whisper at the end. His eyes are round and there’s something soft there, something searching.

Virgil stares at him. 

“You... like it? You like my pajamas?” he says slowly, ignoring the little flutter in his heart that the words bring, because this is one of the moments in which he’s being genuinely nice. No nicknames, no teasing, just a simple statement that means way more to Virgil than it technically should. It’s a rare occasion when Roman says something purely appreciative, and Virgil seizes onto each and every sentence, cherishing them as tough they were precious. 

Roman makes a small sound that might be distress. “I do! It’s, er, quite the aesthetic.”

Virgil rolls his eyes and tries to plaster a sneer onto his face. Of course he’s being made fun of. It stings, of course it stings, but he can handle it. He’d handled it for years, after all. What’s one more night?

He ignores how badly he doesn’t  _want_  one more night of being the outsider. Not after so long on the inside. Not now. Not ever again. 

“Yeah, I know. All black, and me being so pale? Practically undead,” he mutters. “I’m going to my room now.”

“Please, don’t,” Roman pleads. He reaches out a hand like he wants to grab Virgil by the arm and tug him back, but he only lets it hang there in midair for a moment before flopping it to his lap. He folds his hands and stares at them for a moment before he rolls his shoulders and sets his jaw, looking up with a new sort of fire in his eyes.

“Uh, Princey?” Virgil asks.

“Okay, Dark and Stormy Fright, I’m about to live up to my reputation as a pure romantic,” Roman says. He swallows hard and continues. “You, my dear, are positively  _enchanting_.”

Virgil chokes on nothing. Roman continues.

“On a regular day, you are radiant, witty and resilient and endlessly entrancing. I only found myself startled this evening because I had never seen you in such a relaxed state of dress, and it made my heart do a little flip, because you are  _stunning.”_

Virgil can’t breathe. He’s literally dying, right now, right here, but that’s okay because Roman called him  _stunning,_  called him  _enchanting_. He’s dying and he’s totally, utterly, completely chill with it, because this is the greatest moment of his entire existence, and if Roman is just saying this to make fun of him Virgil is going to murder him in cold blood and not feel an ounce of remorse. 

“Virgil?” Roman prompts after a moment of silence.

Virgil does the only thing he can do. He laughs. 

Roman’s face goes bright red and he frowns. A shiver of secondhand anxiety traces up Virgil’s spine and Roman gets to his feet, heading for the stairs, probably to lock himself in his room and never return, but Virgil grabs him by the wrist.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” he laughs. He gives a little tug and Roman sits back down, eyes glued to the carpet. Virgil has to work to stop laughing, but he does, and he says, “I think you’re  _enchanting_  too, Roman.”

Roman’s eyes snap up and lock on Virgil’s, searching. Virgil has to look away after a second--he’s never been good at eye contact--but he can feel Roman still staring at his face, at the red in his cheeks and the smile that won’t leave.

“Oh,” Roman says softly.

“Yeah,” Virgil replies. 

“Would you like to finish the movie?” Roman asks, and Virgil nods, so they sit back and Roman rewinds to a point that they can remember having seen before their little discussion, and if Roman puts his arm around Virgil’s shoulders and tugs him in close, that’s fine. And if Roman plants a kiss on the top of Virgil’s hair, that’s fine too. And if Virgil makes a little startled noise in the back of his throat and twists around to grab Roman by the face and pull him down into a real kiss, a breathless kiss, a true, romantic kiss, that’s also fine. It’s all fine. It’s all  _great_. 


End file.
